


The Pretender

by orphan_account



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Friends to Lovers, M/M, Magic, Magicians, based on the game The Pretender, eventually
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-20
Updated: 2014-02-20
Packaged: 2018-01-13 04:05:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1212061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marco the Pretender is one of the greatest magicians of all time, but even he needs a magician's assistant when his most dangerous act spirals into chaos and risks the lives of his audience.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Pretender

**Author's Note:**

> This story is based on an amazing game called The Pretender, which I am stealing the title from. 
> 
> Sue me.

Jean Kirstein was gripping the armrests on his uncomfortable seat as the lights in the theater darkened to give the magician the on stage's last trick an eerie start. Marco the Pretender was the greatest magician of all time, and cut straight to the point. No rabbits out of hats, long links of fabric tissues from his collar, or sawing a woman in half. No, instead came swords bent between a few of his fingers, shadows that seemed to burn like a demon in morning sunlight, whispers of voices chanting poems in a rhythmic fashion. What made him more amazing was that he was only one year older than Jean, who was 19 years in exactly twenty two minutes.

The Pretender had no assistant and relied solely on his own abilities to keep the show running. Each prop he needed suddenly appeared in his hand after sticking his arm behind his back for less than a second, but Jean was more than surprised when the next accessory of magical use was a worn leather tome. The magician displayed the unusual item to the audience with such a dazzling smile that if you had not already been won over by the performer, you had just been conquered.

Soon, with white gloved hands, the magician cracked open the book, launching shimmering dust into the front row of the audience. Each one sneezed, but Marco the Pretender seemed to be impervious to the dirt and grime. Slowly, he thumbed gently through the yellowed pages, Jean watching his hands work almost hungrily waiting for the next and final display of illusion.

An illusion that felt so real to him and everyone else who saw.

"For my final display of miracle and wonder," Marco the Pretender spoke, voice soft like silk and tempting like a table set fully of deserts, rich and sweet, "I am going to show you magic by the likes you've never seen before. Encoded and encrypted within the pages of this very text lies secrets, tales of another world that is so close you can almost reach out and rip the barrier preventing us from joining with your bety fingertips."

Excited murmurs traveled throughout the audience, first quiet and scarce, and the loud and overpopulated. When he barely could be heard the Pretender simply held up his hand and the room grew silent. Whether is was of command or respect eluded Jean, but his eyes widened with curiosity as the magician on stage, so close yet so far, began to address the crowd once more.

"I ask you all to remain absolutely silent in order to perform this next ritual with exact precision," he paused to let his words sink into the minds of his audience, "We mustn't get other spirits angry, shall we?" His gentle smile melted into a grin, reflecting his knowledge of his power over both the magical arts and his audience. It was beginning to make Jean feel at least a slight amount.

At last, the audience fully hushed as Marco read aloud from the tome. His voice was rich, hollow, and enchanting. Every person in the theater save the magician himself was put under a sort of unintentional spell from his reading.

"Nobis autem nos et Spiritus, si fractum velut speculum transitus scindendum erimus," he spoke repetitively, each time louder and less and less like a human. Shadowed hands, almost claws, began to climb out of the creaking floorboards and wrap around the magician's legs, digging their fingers into his skin. They did nothing to hurt him, and instead dropped to the floor, shattering like porcelain figurines. Behind the Pretender, the curtains began to burn, flamesicking at the tails of his extravegent tuxedo. The audience was silent and still, struck by terror.

At last the magician stopped, but his words were replaced with a scream that did nothing to hide his pain as he fell forward onto his knees. Everyone began to panic, their fingers breaking apart like shards of glass, and then their arms, and then their bodies. Instead of mimicking the rest of the audience, Jean Kirstein leapt from his seat and bolted to the stage, trying to pull him away from the increasing number of hands emerging from the stage floor.

"You have to help me," Marco pleaded to Jean, "They're all going to disappear and so are we."

"But how do I help if-"

"Okay, maybe I didn't know exactly what I was doing for my last trick but I beseech you to trust me," the magician's voice was strained while making his last request as if his throat was swelling.

"Pretender, sir, I uh- I will try not to let you down," Jean said uncertainly, tightening his grip on the magician's arms as they faded away at last. It was so painful, like both his head and heart were being electrocuted and then torn in half continuously.

And then they were gone.

  
When Jean next opened his eyes, he felt his heart skip a beat. Sure, that magic show was amazing in the sence that it suspended disbelief, but it couldn't have been real. But there he was, seemingly sleeping preformer in his arms, while he hinself awoke to a world with a gradiant orange sky and trees whose leaves and bark looked like if you cracked them you would be releasing a large plume of smog. The ground was brown and hard as if it was tightly-packed dirk, which Jean was sure it wasn't after the unexplainable happenings, it could have even be the exact opposite.

Soon, Marco the Pretender's eyes fluttered open. He pitched himself forward out of Jean's hold and groaned the kind of groan one would make when they are either fed up with someone or when you have a headache. He pressed his palms to his closed eyelids briefly before blinking once, then twice, then three times.

"I believe you said something about not knowing what you were doing for that last trick," Jean said quietly to break the silence, heavy with all the words that could have been said but were kept to each male's self, "Mind telling me more about that?"

Marco looked over at him but refused to make eye contact, "I... I've done that trick, or at least tried to, once before. It made my magic as strong as it is now, but there was no audience to risk. And now you must help me, bravely, to escape this prison that is of shattered souls."

"You're so mellow-dramatic, but I guess I can expect no more from a preformer like you, hm?" Jean chuckled softly, but stopped abruptly, "You are aware I don't have magic powers and shit like you, right?"

"Oh, um... name?"

"Jean Kir-"

"Oh Jean you are so foolish, you will become my assistant!"

"Wait, hold the fuck up," Jean said, holding out one finger to signal the magician to be silent, "Your assistant? You're kidding, right? Would I apply for that kind of job instead of being drafted or whatever shit you're pulling?"

Marco shook his head before turning his body to face Jean, "I request it, but you don't really have a choice seeing as the only way to live is pull a total hero-number and team up with Marco the Pretender."

"I would have approciated a choice but I guess that would have made this pretty lame anyways," Jean commented as he stood, offering a helping hand to Marco. The magician's gloved fingers latched onto his, pulling himself up before quickly dropping his hold.

"Come," Marco demanded as he ran over to where trees knotted their branches into a spiraled arch, "It is time to get you contracted as my assistant."

With a grumble about his new partner being so arogant, deducted just by the swagger in the Pretender's walk, he obliged and ran after him.


End file.
